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Sweat poured down the crease in her brow, stinging her eyes as the steel of her greatsword clashed against her mentor's.  Grunting, she kicked outward, making contact with his armored stomach, enough to force his feet to slide back on the gravely dirt that made up the tournament ring.  The movement, however small was enough to break the impasse, stepping back once herself onto to lunge forward, blunted blade slicing through the air in a downward arch, connecting with his shoulder with a satisfying scrape. Alona had been dueling the entire day, emerging the victor in each battle, only to be blindsided by her own commander, Ser Bryant.  Maker,